GRMFBS CH97

Ji Yueming fell deep into thought.

It seemed her family had cultivated some new hobbies while she was away!

This hobby was healthy, positive, uplifting, and would likely be very helpful in correcting Zhan Yan’s aesthetic sense. If it could incidentally fix Suiru’s aesthetic sense along the way, that would be even better.

She should embrace her family’s changes!

Having successfully completed her mental self-persuasion, Ji Yueming began rewatching the video with an eye of tolerance and appreciation.

Yan Yan actually worked his way up to lead dancer! Truly impressive!

Old Zhan’s movements aren’t very practiced, but his posture is elegant. Ah, I’ve never seen him dance before, he’s actually quite talented! I should have him learn more in the future!

Jinli’s movements are correct, but why do his arms and legs look so stiff? Hmm… I suppose that’s normal. With his social anxiety, he must feel terribly pitiful mixing in with a square-dancing crowd.

Suiru’s movements aren’t uninhibited enough; she needs to practice more.

After finishing her appreciation, Ji Yueming began replying to Bai Linghui:

[Not bad, not bad!]

[If they like it, let them dance more.]

[I’m too busy and might not have the time, so I’ll pass.]

Then, she replied to the family group chat. Her family’s new hobbies needed encouragement!

Thus, just as this one-leading-three group finished their square dance, they all simultaneously received a new message notification from the family group chat.

Ji Yueming: [@Zhan Yunkai Great job! You have a talent for dancing! We can try ballroom dancing together in the future.]

[Suiru did great too! Do you want to continue developing this hobby? Mom can sponsor you for a dance class.]

[Jinli was able to break his boundaries, step into a crowd, and square dance with everyone. Mom is so proud of you!]

[Yan Yan danced the best! Becoming the lead dancer is truly amazing!]

Zhan Suiru: “…”

No, no, thank you! I really just want to laze around like a salted fish!

Zhan Jinli: “…”

How did Mom find out?!

Zhan Yan’s gaze began to shift evasively…

Ahem…

Zhan Yunkai stared at the words “ballroom dancing.”

Aiyah! Aiyah-yah!

His face was filled with eagerness!

He glanced at the three younger ones. “Your mom is so happy. Don’t let her down.”

The last time their dad told them not to let their mom down, the three of them each ended up with a small silver lock around their necks that they hadn’t taken off in over a decade. And this time…

Zhan Jinli: Ah! I really don’t want to mix in with a crowd to square dance!

---

As they stumbled their way to New Year’s Eve, Ji Yueming still hadn’t managed to make it home, though she said she could be back before midnight tonight.

Zhan Yunkai bought the ingredients and mixed the dumpling filling, handing the task of kneading the dough for the wrappers over to Zhan Jinli. Zhan Jinli accidentally kneaded the dough so perfectly it formed a transparent windowpane film.

The Spring Festival Gala played on the TV as background music.

As Zhan Yan was wrapping dumplings, a stray lock of hair fell down, tickling the side of his face.

He rubbed his face with the back of his hand, accidentally bumping the bridge of his nose and smudging it with a layer of white flour.

Watching this made Zhan Suiru laugh. “Don’t move, I’ll go wash my hands and tie your hair back for you.”

Zhan Yan shook his head to toss the stray hair aside, sitting in his chair with his two flour-covered hands held up in the air.

Xingxing tried to climb up his leg but was gently nudged away by Zhan Yan’s foot. The little creature initially thought they were playing, but upon realizing it was being rejected, it huffed and ran over to Zhan Yunkai’s feet, circling his legs and meowing coquettishly.

Thanks to a single meal of cat food, Zhan Yunkai had successfully ascended to the rank of Xingxing’s second-favorite person.

Zhan Suiru brought a comb over to help Zhan Yan tie his hair up, grumbling as she worked, “This year’s comedy sketches are terrible.”

Zhan Jinli nodded vigorously in agreement.

Zhan Yunkai simply turned his back to the TV, content to just listen to the noise. His mind was entirely preoccupied with when his wife would be home.

Zhan Yan wasn’t watching the Gala either; he had his Gossip System slips open, eating gossip.

The New Year truly was lively; the gossip slips refreshed far faster than usual.

Firecrackers exploded ceaselessly outside, and the local ghosts were cursing up a storm.

[The ghost Shan Yankai complained loudly, “Didn’t they say there were restrictions on firecrackers? Why is it still so noisy!”]

There were also some unique ones:

[The ghost Shi Pei thought the instantaneous scorching heat as firecrackers passed through him was very fun, intentionally blocking the path of children throwing them.]

The chaofan forum was likely bustling right now as well, but unfortunately, Zhan Yan couldn’t log in at the moment. However, that wasn’t what he was primarily focused on anyway.

The Abnormal Affairs Management Bureau had two major events on New Year’s Eve: one was the transfer of the Infinite fragments, and the other was the Suburban Sacrifice.

Every year on New Year’s Eve, the Abnormal Affairs Management Bureau held a Suburban Sacrifice at the Tai Altar, presided over by Da Wule.

The Suburban Sacrifice began in the afternoon and continued until the following morning. Da Wule used the ritual to communicate with the heavens and the earth, primarily for two purposes: first, to heal the trauma the world suffered twenty-six years ago, and second, to assist the world in eroding the Infinite fragments.

This time, however, the second purpose was greatly diminished, as the Abnormal Affairs Management Bureau had dug up most of the hidden Infinite fragments.

Aside from Da Wule presiding over the ritual, the others attending the Suburban Sacrifice occupied unimportant positions, purely there to make up the numbers and reap the benefits.

When Da Wule presided over the ritual, the power of heaven and earth would resonate, cleansing all living beings within the ritual space. The area where he held the ritual remained green year-round, never withering even in the dead of winter, all thanks to the resonance of heaven and earth.

In past years, the participants in this ritual were mostly frontline combat personnel. For those with injuries or illnesses that were difficult to heal, simply holding on until the annual Suburban Sacrifice could offer a turning point.

But this New Year’s Eve, almost all the outstanding frontline personnel had been selected to participate in the transfer of the Infinite fragments. Consequently, a batch of spots opened up in Da Wule’s ritual, and he had reorganized a list to fill the empty slots.

The Gossip System couldn’t display a live view of the Suburban Sacrifice, only text broadcasts, which was quite boring.

After finishing wrapping the dumplings, Zhan Yan found a free moment to call Gu Jiancheng.

Firecrackers were popping and banging on both ends of the line.

Zhan Yan: “Do you have any plans for tonight? If not, want to play a couple of rounds of games with me?”

Wearing a painted mask, Gu Jiancheng strolled down a street swarming with tourists. On his left, electronic firecrackers flashed with seven or eight different colors, detonating cyberpunk fireworks on digital screens; on his right, two paper dolls with red jackets and rouged cheeks hopped out of paper red lanterns to wish people a happy New Year, perfectly encapsulating a bizarrely mixed aesthetic.

This was the New Year’s Street organized by the Retirees’ Alliance this year, throwing together a chaotic gathering for these rootless wanderers far from home during the most bustling and family-oriented time of the year.

Gu Jiancheng held his phone out toward a group of candy soldiers wearing red silk sashes fighting over red envelopes on a sandbox. The lively noise traveled straight through the receiver to the other side.

“It’s very lively over here.” Gu Jiancheng brought the phone back and smiled tenderly.

Zhan Yan didn’t actually want to play games with him; he was just worried Gu Jiancheng might be lonely with no one to keep him company.

He walked all the way down the long street, picked a three-story-tall pagoda, and leaped up onto it. Sitting at the top, he looked down at the scene below. The jumble of small rooms formed a chaotic array of scales, linking up with the dragon’s head at the front of the street and the tail at the end to assemble a patchwork dragon.

Zhan Yan’s voice carried through the phone, accompanied by the background noise of firecrackers and the Spring Festival Gala.

Gu Jiancheng listened quietly.

The Retirees’ Alliance loved to borrow Deep Shadow’s reputation to throw their weight around, completely unaware that the very Deep Shadow who had never paid them any attention would actually come stroll through their turf every New Year.

For many, many years, this was the very first time someone had called him on New Year’s.

Fireworks bloomed in the distance, and fine snowflakes drifted down silently.

Both he and this patchwork dragon had made their home in this world.

After hanging up, Zhan Yan felt a tug on his pant leg. Looking down, he saw Xingxing using his pants as a teething toy.

He rubbed Xingxing’s head. “You adapt so fast!”

When the firecrackers first started, the kitten had been terrified, hiding in his arms and refusing to be put down. But later on, it stopped being scared and went back to pestering people to play with it.

Downstairs, his sister called him to come hang the lanterns. Zhan Yan tossed Xingxing into its bed, gave it a couple of rubs, and went downstairs in his slippers.

It was snowing outside. At first, it had been fine and light, like crushed seashell fragments, but now it was gradually growing heavier.

Ji Yueming messaged to say her flight was delayed. Zhan Yan checked the gossip slips; his mom’s gossip slips had been rather sparse lately, but there were no alarming issues, so things seemed fine.

Still, missing a person meant the house couldn’t quite reach its peak liveliness.

Zhan Yan kept the Abnormal Affairs Management Bureau’s gossip slips open. Their transfer of the Infinite fragments had already begun, with the Tianshi personally holding the line.

The transfer of the Infinite fragments couldn’t utilize the Abnormal Affairs Management Bureau’s teleportation technology. That method had been reverse-engineered from Infinite, and attempting to use it once before had nearly triggered an eruption from the sealed Infinite fragments. Therefore, they could only use standard transport routes.

Aboard the transport vehicle, the sealing cases were stacked securely. Dense sealing arrays were inlaid onto every single casing. Each case was nested three layers deep inside and out, with a thick, viscous current flowing through the outermost layer to ensure the Infinite fragments sealed inside would absolutely not break out.

Sitting in the largest transport vehicle, Ji Yueming’s eyes were half-open and half-closed, her left hand resting on one of the sealing cases.

All the Infinite fragments slated for transfer had been loaded. Next was the final leg of the journey leading to the Abnormal Affairs Management Bureau’s secret facility—the Infinite Research Institute.

She glanced out the window, her right fingertips tapping lightly against her thigh twice.

The Research Institute was a circular building, half above ground and half subterranean. Within a three-kilometer radius of the institute, there was absolutely no vegetation—only specially treated, hardened ground. With interception nets above and deep-layer arrays below, it ensured no other living creatures could approach the vicinity of the Research Institute.

As the transport convoy approached the three-kilometer perimeter of the Research Institute, the checkpoint’s searchlights flashed a light signal from a hundred meters away. All the vehicles began to decelerate.

Ji Yueming opened her eyes. “Everyone on high alert. At least three people must remain in each vehicle to conduct rolling inspections.”

The moments right before entering the Research Institute and when the vehicles decelerated were when things were most likely to go wrong.

ID checks, identity verification, corruption detection… they had to pass every single test before they were allowed inside.

Aside from essential personnel, absolutely no living creatures were allowed inside the Infinite Research Institute. This was because the Infinite Research Institute housed the largest sealed Infinite fragment of all—the Apocalyptic Fragment.

The “Apocalyptic Fragment” could practically be considered a miniature instance world in itself. The entire Infinite Research Institute served as one massive, complete seal to prevent its corruption from invading the outside world.

Ji Yueming didn’t step out of the vehicle from start to finish. Her inspection process was different from everyone else’s.

The young man who came forward to conduct her inspection had a tense face, his eyes half-nervous and half-excited, yet his movements were steady. Giving Ji Yueming a salute, he pulled out a finger-length white square chip and handed it to her.

Ji Yueming took it and gave it a squeeze. A shocking scorch mark of lightning appeared on the chip.

This little object was made from a special material developed by the Research Institute. Its resistance to lightning was absurdly high; aside from the Tianshi, no one could unleash lightning destructive enough to instantly compromise its structural integrity.

The young man took the chip back, verified it with a machine, and then, his voice pitching three degrees higher, invited her inside.

After entering the Research Institute, the majority of the escort team remained outside the first door. Only the Tianshi, leading a seven-person squad, continued inward alongside the institute’s director and security personnel to transport this batch of Infinite fragments.

The director of the Research Institute nodded at them with reserved pride, periodically pointing out just how rigorous and excellent their protective measures were along the way.

None of the squad members responded to him, maintaining a silent, vigilant guard. The director didn’t mind much either. His gaze darted toward the Tianshi from behind his glasses time and again; in this entire group, she was the only one he truly wanted to show off to.

However, the Tianshi gave him none of the reactions he desired. All her expressions were concealed behind that mask, and her only visible eyes held absolutely no emotion.

The sealing cases were piled onto a small transport cart. The seven-person squad surrounded the cart, walking forward along the rainbow bridge leading to the second door. Ji Yueming kept one hand resting on the sealing cases, while her other hand was hidden within the draped sleeves of her Tianshi robes. Her pace was rhythmic and steady.

The director unknowingly fell silent. It wasn’t until they reached the second door that he realized with a shock that he had inadvertently been pulled into the Tianshi’s rhythm.

She was just walking…

The director shot her an astonished look.

It was only after passing through the second door that the true interior of the Research Institute revealed itself.

The center of the Research Institute was completely hollow, plunging downward to a depth of at least two hundred meters and rising upward another hundred meters to the ceiling. A massive polyhedron, looking like a jigsaw puzzle made of picture frame fragments, sat dead center. Every single fragment displayed a different scene, yet these seemingly disparate images possessed certain identical traits, compelling the brain of anyone who looked at it to automatically attempt to associate and stitch together the fragmented information.

This was the “Apocalyptic Fragment.” The entire Research Institute had been built around it.

Several members of the squad following Ji Yueming were visiting for the first time. They couldn’t help but marvel at the near-miraculous spectacle, yet their excellent training ensured that despite their awe, they never shifted their attention away from the sealing cases.

“Good. Do not pay it too much attention; that is the most basic form of information corruption,” Ji Yueming said.

Massive Infinite fragments contained colossal amounts of information. The innate instincts of living beings compelled them to try and organize this information the moment they laid eyes on it. But this was an impossible task; while attempting to organize it, the living being would only be drawn deeper and deeper into the chaotic information. Once their consciousness was fully sucked into the Infinite fragment, they would never return.

The Tianshi’s voice resonated low and deep, like thunder tolling within a bronze bell.

Hearing this, the director of the Research Institute let out a chuckle. “There’s no need to be so vigilant. Our technology is highly advanced. We’ve set up two layers of information barriers outside the ‘Apocalyptic Fragment.'”

He casually pointed at the behemoth in the center. “If you’re curious, feel free to look directly at it. Nothing will happen.”

“Is that so?” Ji Yueming extended the right hand she had kept hidden in her sleeve and opened her palm.

The corpse of a beetle lay in her palm. An eye grew on the beetle’s back—not an insect’s compound eye, but a mammalian flesh eye. This made it look incredibly bizarre.

“Where did you get that?!” The director’s voice spiked shrilly.

He was all too familiar with this! Nearly all the anomalies within the “Apocalyptic Fragment” shared this aesthetic! Organisms corrupted by the “Apocalyptic Fragment” mutated in this exact direction as well.

“On the way here, right before we entered the three-kilometer checkpoint,” Ji Yueming said. “Your protective technology doesn’t seem very reliable.”

She tossed the beetle corpse to the director, as calm as ever. “Keep moving. We still have a way to go before we reach the receiving area.”